Chapter XV: Emotions Boiling Over

"-Are you going to do something or not?" I hear Paul ask Officer Brown for the third time.

"We will put in on record and will even send a cleaning crew down to get rid of the vandalism-"

"But are you. Going. To. Put. Them. In. Jail?!" Paul interrupts. His words are stiff and pronounced with a sharp edge to them. I can imagine he's saying them with his teeth grit, his lips all shriveled up like a growling dog, a sign he's only a few seconds away from completely losing it. Which is when you really know you've fucked him up; Paul's usually an expert at keeping his stance in check.

I raise my eyebrows, waiting for Brown's response. When the police car appeared in the driveway, Mom made me go upstairs, but I opted for the old trick of shutting my door outside and creeping to the edge of the stairs. The communication as been, to put it lightly, passionate. Mom hasn't stopped hammering them from the minute they walked through the door.

Officer Brown sighs, "Mr. Saint Claire, Mrs. Saint Claire, I know you're both angry over the recent events-"

"'Angry' doesn't even begin to describe it," Mom hisses.

"-But I'm afraid..." he trails off. There's a strange hesitance to his voice, like he has to hold something back. "...I'm afraid we..."

"What?" Mom demands.

"I'm afraid we may not be able to charge the boys you think responsible-"

"And why the hell not?!"

There's a moment of thick, uneasy silence that settles downstairs. I lean forward, straining my hearing to try and listen better. There's nothing from either party. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I hear Brown reply.

"We believe Holden Loftis is dead."

The silence that follows becomes so defining you can probably hear a pin drop. It takes a moment for me to get over the initial shock for the answer to actually sink in. I stare at the corner of the downstairs. A familiar feeling of being discharged from reality- the disassociation of being there, but not really being there- an uncomfortable churning in my stomach, starts to settle over me.

"I-...what?" I hear Mom ask, her voice soft, disbelieving.

For a second, there's no response from Brown. He then lets loose another sigh before he answers. "I'm not supposed to be telling you two this. But...we got a call last night of an automobile accident. A Jeep Cherokee caught fire and ended in an explosion. All five passengers died. We haven't obtained dental records for identification yet but...Mr. Loftis' family was said to have a car of that description in their possession. We also got a call this morning from the household of a boy named Tony Plonsky- he was said to be friends with Holden- his parents called saying he failed to come home last night."

This can't be real. There has to be some catch to this; someone jumping out of the bushes and yelling surprise or something, or me having walked into an alternate reality. This isn't actually happening. Holden and Tony are...dead? Them too? And a month or so after Kailani?

There's a buzzing in my chest, a yearning to make sure that what I'm hearing is true, that this isn't some sort of Matrix-esque world I've landed in.

"Oh...oh! Oh my god, that's horrible," Mom exclaims.

"And this just happened last night?" Paul asks.

"Yes, and we would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone at this time. We still need to go through the whole process of identifying and the parents are already hysterical enough- you understand, right? Wouldn't want outsiders knowing this before you do if something happened?" Brown comments.

Mom answers, "Oh...certainly."

They start talking again- Schultz mentions something like an apology over the vandalism and promises they'll bring someone to clean the mess up- but I've zoned out in my own thoughts. I'm still reeling over the news they're dead. Or, at least, they might be dead. And it all happened last night. That would mean it would've had to have happen right after they egged the house, right? It seems almost too coincidental. How would something like an explosion happen anyway? I have so many questions. Amongst it all, I find myself in a peculiar stance.

Holden's dead. Him and Tony. Just like Kailani is. If the officers' corrections are right, they probably died brutally- your car exploding when you're in it is no small scrape.

But unlike Kailani, I can't find it in me to shut off. Unlike when the news hit of her dying, I'm not experiencing the same confusing emptiness or numbness. I don't think of how horrible it sounds, or the fact that three other people that I didn't even know died, too.

Now, all I feel...is contempt.

I take a look at my casted wrist and frown. It's my right hand- my writing hand. School's going to be hell now.

That's just barely scraping the surface, though. This isn't anything like Kailani, in my opinion. Kailani was a bitch and broke Goselyn, but Holden actually hurt me. He beat the living shit out of me. He put me in the hospital; he threatened to kill me- if last night didn't happen, he might have actually done so somewhere down the line. He desecrated my house. He made everyone think I killed Kailani based on his own bullshit theory, and now everyone treats me like I'm Typhoid Mary. They believed his lies. He spread them. He bullied me and made fun of me, he made my life a living hell, he broke my things and my bones. I'm in pain, I'm humiliated, and I'm angry.

A dark part of my conscious comes to light. One I tend to ignore because it's so horrible and I don't like entertaining the thoughts it puts in my head. But now, it's out and nothing it's holding it back.

Good, is what it says, Assholes deserved it.

Glad that they're gone. About time they got theirs; I hope it went as slow as possible.

Normally I push these thoughts away, but right now, I strangely can't find it within myself to care.

I break out of my thoughts when I hear the door close. I hear Paul let out a sigh, probably sharing a glance with Mom. Before I even think it through, I jump up and rush down the stairs. They both look at me, surprise on their faces at my sudden entry. I look to both of them and ask, "Well?"

"Hm?" Mom asks.

"Did they say, you know, what they'll do about the graffiti?" I question. A strange hum of eagerness is building in my chest.

Mom looks out the window, the corners of her mouth pulling down when she spots the pink words. "Oh, they said someone will be here in a few hours. Sweetie, there's something we need to tell you-"

"About Holden and Tony. Yeah, I heard. But did they say how much it's going to-"

"You heard?" Paul frowns at me, "Were you eavesdropping on us?"

I ignore him, asking Mom, "It's not to bad is it? Like, it won't drain you in the bank, right?"

"Gaelin, don't ignore me. How can you say it like that?" he cuts in, hands on his hips.

I look at him. "Say it like what?"

"'Yeah, I heard?'" he repeats, "That's a bit crass considering the situation."

Now I feel my own frown start to form. I respond, "What? I was just saying that I know about it, you don't have to tell me."

"Son, those boys and three other people might dead. That's not something to just talk about lightly."

"I'm not," I say, starting to feel the anger bubble up, "I'm just saying that I know. I don't know why you're looking at me like that. You're acting like I killed somebody."

Mom looks at me, "Gaelin, don't talk to your stepfather like that-"

Paul cuts her off, an attitude to his voice to combat me, "Well, I'm just saying I'd expect you to be a little bit more sympathetic to the situation."

The words die in my mouth, and I look at him, dumbfounded by what I've just heard. But the astonishment is quickly lost by the next words that come out.

"Sympathy?!" I shout, "For them?! After what they did?!"

I gesture to my face. My eyes are still blackened and swollen. My lip is still bruised and cracked with scabs. Bruises litter my body like a ruined watercolor painting. I'm the one who has to feel it all, not him.

Paul takes a slight step back, probably shocked from my slight outburst.

Just who is this person? This new, unseen part of me? This furious, snappy, venom-mouthed person? I've never met him before. I barely recognize myself. At the moment, though, I can't really find it in me to care.

"Boys, stop," Mom steps in between us before we can wage verbal war any longer. She looks to me, trying to be the mediator. She puts a hand on my shoulder. "Gael'-"

I surprise myself when I find myself harshly shrugging her off, turning back towards the stairs, ignoring the surprise and hurt on her face, the way she says my name in disbelief. I brush her off with a muttered response that I'm going back to my room, stomping up the stairs and having to hold back to keep from completely slamming the door. I flop down on my bed, burying my head into my pillow and pulling it close, my hand clenching into the fabric.

Be a little bit more sympathetic to the situation.

Where was the sympathy for me after my father died? Where was it in all those times they'd bring him up, knowing it was a touchy subject, all the times Holden'd stick gum in my hair or dump juice down my back? Where was it whenever him and Tony would shove me into lockers and steal my homework? Where was it the day Kailani broke Goselyn and stole my puppets? I never did anything to Holden or his dumbass friends, and yet I always got treated like shit. Always the damn doormat.

But of course, I'm supposed to feel sorry for them when something bad happens. Paul always thinks I need to do this, or feel that, or be something. Nothing I ever do is fucking good enough.

The anger stews, and it's almost nerve-wracking that I can't do anything to get rid of it.

I think back to something else Paul had said.

"I'm not your son," I mutter into my pillowcase. It's petty, I know, but it's the only thing I think of at the moment that makes me feel better, even it's just a tiny thing.

For a moment, I just lie there. A small touch in the back of my head makes me look up, seeing Pinhead poke the top of my head. All of them are watching me. I smile, raising my left and lightly touching his thumb. "Don't worry about it, buddy. It's not any of you."

Not them. Never them.

They understand my pain, my frustration.

And for now, that's all I need.